Page 36 of Last Hope
“My aura?” Isis blinked at him.
He nodded. “Yeah, the light of your personality around you. My mom told me about it. Yours is a blue-gray of sadness.”
She blinked at him. The boy talked as if he were twelve, not three, and his voice sounded so wise. Isis chuckled and stared at the boy. “You’re pretty smart and perceptive for your age.”
Othello shrugged as if the compliment just rolled off of his shoulders. “I read a lot,” he said. And then, “Why are you so sad?” He seemed genuinely concerned and curious, Isis thought with a start. She shook her head as if to clear it, to decide whether or not she should tell the truth or burden him with her troubles. She decided on the latter. If she lied he’d probably be able to sense it anyway. “There was a fire in my old house and I don’t know if my friends survived.”
Othello stared at her for a long moment without replying but this time, it didn’t make her uncomfortable. They simply stared at each other for a large stretch of time as if they were looking into the depths of each other’s souls.
Then, Othello broke the contact by walking forward and holding his palms out to Isis. She stared at them quizzically and almost as if on instinct, she placed her long delicate fingers on top of Othello’s small white ones.
It felt like a warm sting at first, a nice tingling sensation that started in her fingertips and coursed up her arms and then through her whole body until she felt like she was standing near the warmth of a campfire. A sudden happiness that hadn’t been there for what felt like so long surged through her chest. Tears sprung from her eyes without preamble and suddenly, she was laughing and she didn’t even know why. It was just bubbling out of her.
Othello smiled a sweet smile and dropped his hands back to his sides but the euphoria was still there even though he wasn’t touching her.
“There,” he said. “Now your aura is blazing bright colors.”
Isis sniffled. “How did you do that?” It was as if all of her problems had been thrown away and replaced with radiant happiness that would contaminate even the sun. She felt as if she could soar through galaxies and black holes; caress oceans of fish and sharks. She felt like she could do anything, and it made her happy; she could’ve burst sunshine.
“With my magic,” he stated with a shrug of his small shoulders. Isis eyed him in greater detail. He was tall for his age; he looked more like a six year old.
He was incredibly thin, his bones protruded and poked through the material of his thin shirt; Isis couldn’t help but think of a baby bird because of his small delicate form. His gaze was steady and calm like Ami’s, his style shy and nervous like Riordan’s. His face was round, cheek bones high, chin and nose sharp. He looked so fragile and strong all at once like a perfect contradiction.
She smiled genuinely at the boy. “Thank you,” she said. “For making me feel happiness.”
* * *
The happiness Othellogave to her lasted for a week afterward. All thoughts of the fire had been pushed to the back of her mind, long forgotten. Now, all that she could think about was staying active instead of sulking, for it was the only proof that she was alive and she’d be damned if she would give up and sit around moping. Instead, she would live every moment as if it were her last because maybe it would be and she intended to live it to its fullest.
Even Ami seemed to be treating her with more kindness. Isis suspected Othello had told her what had happened and she was attempting to show her a little sympathy. Which was why Isis guessed, Ami had invited her to participate in their family production of “Othello.”
“Do you know the lines?” Riordan asked, eyebrows raised and a mocking glint in his tone that snapped her out of her reverie.
Isis eyed him with narrow eyes. “Of course I do,” she said with dignity. “And I get dibs on playing Desdemona, so don’t even think about stealing her from me.” She winked teasingly.
Riordan smiled a full teeth smile. “Good,” he said. “Because I have dibs on Iago.”
The play was held in the living room. All furniture had been pushed aside for the occasion. They had acted out a few scenes but the play had ended all too quickly when Othello stomped his little foot and refused to kiss Isis, even a fake one. It was out of the question. So they had all sighed and gone their separate ways and now, an hour later, Isis felt herself tremble with hunger and went to find Ami to ask “permission” to go out into the wilderness and feed.
She found the witch with Riordan outside. She towered over the too tall forest grass around her. Isis approached her; her sharp features were illuminated beneath the moonlight.
A yellow arrow was painted from the middle of her forehead, down her nose and to her chin. Purple lines were drawn horizontally on her high cheek bones. White-silver stars were dotted around the edges of her eyes but what stood out the most was the crescent moon painted in the middle of her forehead, just over where the third eye would be, overlapping the arrow.
She didn’t seem to be as separated from the Moon Coven as she wanted everyone to believe. She was wearing a tribal type of outfit, brown bearskin bra and short skirt that heightened her legs and made it seem like she was towering over Isis. At her approach, Ami raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?” she asked stiffly; she was holding her bow and arrow at her side.
“Yeah, how about we go out and hunt?” Isis replied casually, keeping her eyes on the bow and arrow for a moment before looking up and meeting her heavy gaze. “I’m starving and, unless you want me to take a chomp out of your kids, you should take me. On the other hand, Othello looks quite appetizing—”
Isis and Riordan laughed but Ami didn’t join the sentiment. Instead, she narrowed her eyes angrily before she suddenly froze. Her whole body went rigid for a moment or two and they stared at her until she shivered, as if she were standing in the snow barefoot.
Her eyes widened for a mere second, before she scowled menacingly and turned to her husband. “Someone has breached the perimeter.” She reached a long, slender arm to her back, pulling out an arrow and detaching her bow from her shoulder, connecting the two as one and rushing towards the trees, disappearing in the darkness.
“She gets paranoid every time the perimeter alarm goes off,” Riordan explained to Isis, shrugging his shoulders as he explained his wife’s behavior. “But usually it’s just a squirrel or a deer walking around. Before you, nothing exciting ever happened around here.”
Isis gave him the smallest of smiles. “That must drive her crazy,” she said.
Riordan smiled back. “Better safe than sorry. I’ll go check on her. Will you watch the children for me?”
Before Isis could reply—as if he knew she’d say yes—he jogged after his wife, his ginger hair bobbing around him as he ran. With a sigh, Isis walked inside the coziness of their cabin.
